The Lycan Collapse (The Flux Age Book 2) (14 page)

9 - Jack

Prague, Czech Republic

All Jack knew was that he was hanging upside down. The room was pitch black and the only sound was an occasional metal squeak. How long had he been passed out for? Impossible to tell, although judging from his severe thirst, it might have been a day or so. The voyage from New York had been tolerable enough. Apart from the fact he was a prisoner to the Berlin Club. He still couldn’t believe Herr X had gotten himself a medusa to do his dirty work. He knew they had existed in various Flux Ages, but there was no record of them during the Dark Ages. They must be exceedingly rare.

Jack told himself that the only reason he was caught was that he was wasn’t prepared to face such a foe. She called herself Shasta and she hadn’t let him forget about losing his battle against her.

Jack cursed himself for allowing himself to stare directly at the hideous creature. He had been yards away from escaping the lycan cercarium. And now - well, the situation was hopeless whichever way you looked at it. Jack’s only sliver of hope was that the Harbor Master, a friend of his, had seen him board the
Saint Helena
. He had feigned cooperation with Shasta and made himself highly visible as he crossed the gangway.

And yet, even if he was seen, what could the Harbor Master do to save him? The city of New York would have its hands full with the fall of the Lycan Society. There were too many emergent threats to worry about a lone lycan who had found himself a prisoner on a ship bound for Europe.

There had been plenty of time to stew about his situation on board the
Saint Helena
. Jack had been given a tiny room to aft. He was given a plate of rice and a cup of water once a day and that was it. He didn’t mind the lack of contact - he loathed his captors. Apart from Shasta, these surly-looking men were probably all ghouls. Filthy cannibals. Jack imagined what it would feel like to be divined as a ghoul. Surely it would be a huge disappointment? Yes, ghouls were very quick. They were also extremely hardy and resistant to many toxins and poisons. But the whole human flesh eating thing had to be a turn off, right? But then, once a thing was part of your physiology, it was probably easier to do things you may have once found morally abhorrent.

In any case, Jack was happy to be left alone for the duration of the voyage. The
Saint Helena
berthed at Livorno and Jack suspected things were about to get a lot worse. As usual, his instincts were spot on. He was bundled into the trunk of a black Mercedes and driven hundreds of miles. Jack had no way of knowing which direction they were going but he got colder in the trunk, so it must have been vaguely north. At one point he heard a flurry of Czech words, and wondered if he was indeed traveling through the Czech Republic. His cell phone had of course been taken away.

One thing Jack found interesting was the fact that the Berlin Club had been forced to travel by sea for this operation. He suspected that they were being extra careful with their cargo, which no doubt included dark tissue stolen from the lycan chapter house. It still pained Jack to think about the precious dark tissue, the living matter that ensured lycans could live beyond each Flux Age. He could still picture the gutted cercarium, the horrific medusa slithering around inside. It made him unspeakably angry, but he knew anger was a wasted emotion right now. Not long after Jack had heard the Czech voices he had been taken to his final destination where the trunk was flung open and a bag was thrust over his head. He was led to a dark room and strung upside down from the ceiling.

That was when he received a blow to the head and passed out.

The headache was a belter. Trying to ignore the throbbing pain in his head, Jack wondered what he could do to make himself more comfortable. The bonds securing his ankles to the ceiling were too strong to break. As a human. Jack was fairly certain he’d be able to escape as an enraged werewolf. Satisfied that he had no other option, Jack tried to engage the shifting process.

Nothing happened.

Jack struggled and squirmed, thinking that he might simply be in an awkward position to shift. Still nothing. Breathing hard, Jack forced himself to relax and slow his racing pulse. His body simply wasn’t able to germ.

It was time for logic, not panic.

Did Shasta have the ability to prevent lycan germing? No. Jack was a werewolf when he tried to escape her back in New York. It must be something else. Difficult to investigate while strung up in a dark room. All Jack could do was wait. He called upon every meditative technique he knew to keep himself sane. He knew it wasn’t good for his head to be upside down for so long.

Several hours later the small room was flooded with light and a voice barked at him. Jack grunted in response, his eyes sore from the adjustment. He extended his arms just in time as he was released from the ceiling. He was hauled to his feet and marched down a musty-smelling passage. He wondered if he was underground. The goons behind him were probably ghouls. Jack felt like killing them right there but knew he wouldn’t be able to shift.

The passage admitted to a larger room lined with books and furnished with an oak table and chairs. A fire crackled in a bulbous hearth in the corner.

A man very familiar to Jack sat at the table. He had seen countless pictures and sketches of the man since the Berlin mission. It was Herr X, no doubt about it.

The elderly, rather normal-looking German man regarded Jack with keen interest. He looked over the spectacles perched on the end of his nose and nodded with satisfaction.

“What’s wrong, where’s your friend gone?” he said jovially.

“What friend?” Jack said through gritted teeth. He already
hated
this guy. Behind the genial facade he sensed something incredibly dark.

Herr X feigned surprise. “Why, your furry friend! The wolf!”

Jack’s blood ran cold. Without his spirit beast, he was effectively naked.

“I have feeling you’re gonna tell me what happened to my ‘friend’, asshole.”

Herr X chuckled, looking at his henchmen as if to say ‘get a load of this guy’.

“I admit, I
do
know,” he said.

“Well?”

“Well what, dear boy?”

“Are you gonna tell me how it works?” Jack asked, a little exasperated.

Herr X paused for a moment. He came across as a doddery old man, but Jack knew it was all just an act. “I don’t see why not. Vlado.”

A particularly ugly henchman by the door nodded and disappeared. Jack forced himself to stay calm. Herr X’s manner suggested Jack didn’t have long to live. He would need to try and string things out as long as possible.

Herr X was now pouring whiskey from a crystal decanter. He filled two glasses and slid one under Jack’s nose.

“We aren’t entirely without class in the Berlin Club,” he said almost regretfully.

“A condemned man’s last drink, eh?” Jack asked bitterly.

“Something like that,” said the old man, rolling the warm liquid around his mouth. “Once you’re dead, I’ll be one step closer to finding redemption.”

Jack knew from his intelligence briefings that his motives for hunting lycans was personal, but there was something else in his voice that piqued his interest. Jack needed to know how many of his comrades were left standing.

“How many ‘steps’ left before you can finally rest?” Jack asked.

Herr X looked at the werewolf with mild surprise, fully understanding his meaning.

“Oh, I’d say one more,” the old man said. “I’m so devilishly close.”

Jack was overcome with grief all of a sudden, his agony leavened just a little by the knowledge that there was one remaining lycan out there somewhere. Still, it was difficult to face Herr X knowing that every chapter house around the world had been ransacked. That meant that over a thousand lycans had been murdered. If Jack’s situation wasn’t so hopeless he would’ve pledged a long and grisly death for this man sitting opposite him. He pushed his whiskey away, no longer thirsty.

“Florence Underwood,” he said simply, determined to focus on the single positive out of all this.

Herr X raised an eyebrow. “Your guess is accurate, Mr Foley. Rest assured that I’ll find her. And then she will die too.”

Jack gave a low grunt, his fury threatening to spill over. Herr X’s flinty eyes flicked up at the burly henchman by the door. Jack might be able to take him down, but the old German probably had a gun somewhere within reach. He would be stupid not to.

“So what happens now?” he spat. “You lead an all-conquering empire of ghouls?”

Herr X smiled. “Your mocking tone aside, that is
exactly
what I hope will happen. The dark tissue you lycans so helpfully provided has been dispersed to so many locations no one could ever hope to track it all down. My empire is guaranteed to thrive when all other creatures have died out.”

Jack could barely breathe. The fall of the lycans was incredibly sad, but the theft of dark tissue was catastrophic. Humanity was in for a torrid time if these dark creatures, led by the Berlin Club, held so much power.

“I don’t think the aquilans are trustworthy,” Jack offered, more out of spite than anything else.

Herr X laughed out loud, a genuine belly laugh. The sound chilled Jack to the bone.

“That is precisely why we took
all
the dark tissue,” he said in between bouts of rasping laughter.

Jack felt a small degree of satisfaction that those responsible for the bloody masquerade ball had been so comprehensively swindled by the Berlin Club. Hector and the other aquilan leaders must be furious. What would they do now? Hopefully wage war against the ghouls. Jack doubted they would be successful, especially here in Europe, where the ghouls would no doubt be setting up their empire under the ground.

The door opened and Vlado stepped in with two thin, willowy figures. Jack recognized the dishevelled young woman as Mischa, the diviner from Berlin. Florence and Yasmin had let her go, but it had always been obvious she would be re-captured by the Berlin Club.

Mischa had been the one to divine Yasmin, drawing forth the vampire queen. She had also been forced to divine hundreds of ghouls for Herr X. She seemed like a troubled, off-kilter individual.

Jack eyed the diviner with distaste and was rewarded with a similar gaze.

“I believe you’ve met Mischa,” Herr X said warmly. “Without her, I wouldn’t have an army at all.”

Jack turned his gaze to the young man. He was fey, almost effeminate, and had a chronically shy bearing. He had locked arms with Mischa and looked at Jack fearfully. His prominent cheekbones and blond hair suggested a central European origin.

“Boris Radovich,” Herr X purred. “He is the reason I bothered to keep you alive and transfer you here to Prague.”

Jack considered the frightened young man. Like Mischa, he was clearly being held against his will. Then it hit him.

“You’re a dampener, aren’t you?” he asked Boris. The young man nodded, unable to met his gaze.

Florence had once mentioned dampeners in passing. It was believed that dampeners, like diviners, were a special kind of spirit beast. Where diviners could trigger the emergence of a spirit beast in another person, dampeners could prevent all people within a certain radius from shifting at all. It explained why Jack hadn’t been able to access his werewolf ever since he arrived in Prague. With a stab of dread he realized his usefulness to Herr X had come to an end. The old German wanted to ensure that Boris’s dampening abilities worked on lycans - perhaps he had a trap in mind for Florence.

“How does it feel, working for a madman?” he asked Boris. “Helping him kill thousands of innocent people?”

Boris flinched at that, practically hiding behind Mischa. It was the diviner that answered.

“Boris does not answer to you,” she said in broken English. “We have our own reasons for being here.”

Jack hesitated. There was something underneath what Mischa was saying. Her eyes were pleading with him. It occurred to Jack that Herr X might be holding others prisoner. Boris’s family, for instance. Possibly right here in this underground facility.

Right at that moment Jack made a snap decision. It was desperate but it was all he had. Herr X had revealed a weakness. He was far too confident in the power he thought he had over his prisoners.

“One more request, Herr X,” he said in a flat tone. He tried to sound as hopeless as possible. His captors had dressed him in simple trousers and a T-shirt. There was nowhere to hide a weapon even if he had found one.

“Name it, Mr Foley,” Herr X said. “I am enjoying your exchange with my other guests.”

“May I have a cigarette?” Jack asked. “I quit some time ago but I think I can afford to have one right now.”

“Of course, of course,” Herr X beamed, gesturing to Vlado. The surly henchman produced a steel case and handed a cigarette to Jack. Herr X placed a glass ashtray on the table. The werewolf took a few deep puffs and leaned back in his chair and sighed deeply.

“Thank you,” he said calmly. “I really needed that.” He spun around and flicked his butt in the face of the other henchman. With his free hand he lifted the ashtray and clubbed Vlado over the temple with it. The faithful henchman was fast, but Jack was faster. Even though he couldn’t germ he was supremely fit. One, two, three blows to the same spot on his skull was enough to send Vlado against the door and down to the ground. The Ukranian didn’t move.